


landing among stars

by pratktcven (calciseptine)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-30
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-09-02 20:13:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16793935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calciseptine/pseuds/pratktcven
Summary: Truthfully, Shiro hasn't thought about the ISS Aion failure in years.





	landing among stars

**Author's Note:**

> um yes who asked for praise kink and some personal headcanons about pre-kerberos shiro's celebrity? (insert side-eye emoji)

“Do you know why I became a pilot?” Lance asks Shiro, one calm day between the brief and unexpected battles of intergalactic war. “I mean—have I ever told you?”

The question is soft. Strange. Out of place in the humming silence of Shiro’s quarters, where they tangle together on the too small loveseat. Lance’s legs are thrown over Shiro’s lap, the back of his knees hooked over the padded arm rest, and his head is tucked beneath Shiro’s jaw.

“No,” Shiro responds, fingers stilling in the curls of Lance’s short hair. “I thought you said you wanted to be a pilot since you were a kid.”

“Yes and no,” Lance says. “I did, but—well, I wanted to be a lot of different things. A pilot, sure. A superhero. A firefighter. I wanted to work with my dad on the boat. With my brother when he got the food truck. I wanted to be a singer. A backup dancer for Shakira or Beyoncé. Once—ha!—once I even thought about being a _scuba_ instructor at the _resort_." 

"Mmm," Shiro hums. "You could have been any of those things."

"Maybe."

"So—why the pilot?"

"I was thirteen when the space station failed," Lance says. "Mama was watching her favorite telenovela when it came on. It was—I don't know. The video resolution of your escape flight was grainy. You get so used to how disasters are portrayed in movies that it felt—anticlimactic, almost? But they played it, over and over again, getting more details every time, and they had interviews with you and the crew and I just..."

Lance trails off. Tilts his head back. Dislodges Shiro's fingers and looks at him with his ocean-dark eyes. Truthfully, Shiro hasn't thought about the ISS Aion failure in years. It never seemed as big to him as it did to others. As the space station began to collapse, he simply did what he had to: he got the crew, got the ship, and got out.

"You were my hero for a long time. I even had your pictures tacked to my wall." Lance smiles. "You know, those awful recruitment ones the Garrison made? In your instructor's uniform?"

"Oh god, the one with the beret?"

"Yeah, the one that made you look—"

"Lance—"

"Made you look bald—"

Shiro digs his fingers into Lance's side. Though he isn't ticklish—not like Keith or Pidge or Allura—Shiro knows that a digging touch to his ribs will make him squeal. Lance shrieks and wriggles and nearly falls off the loveseat and onto the floor. Immediately, Shiro stops his assault. He wraps one arm around Lance's waist, keeping him anchored while Lance's reactive laughter dies out.

"You're the worst!" Lance claims. His words are shrill as he tries to catch his breath. "I can't believe I had such a crush on you."

Shiro cannot help but smile at the admission. "Yeah?" he prompts.

"Yeah." Lance giggles again, this time out of self-consciousness. "I didn't really know what it was back then. I mean, I got shit _all the time_ but—I thought I just wanted to meet you. Shake your hand. Tell you how amazing you were. Then when I got to the Garrison—I couldn't, you know? You were _the Takashi Shirogane_ and I was just a cargo pilot."

Shiro squeezes Lance's sides in reassurance. After the Aion failure, the media played up his role as rescuer; they called him the best pilot of the century, an epithet that he's always been embarrassed of. Until now, he has never thought of how others—how Lance—looked up to his success, and he is humbled by it.

"Lance," Shiro murmurs as he gently curls his fingers beneath Lance's sharp chin. "You want to know a secret?"

Against the pressure of Shiro's touch, Lance leans back. Though he does not speak, the curious tilt of his mouth and the upward quirk of his eyebrow say enough.

"You have always been more than a cargo pilot."

It is quiet praise. Lance characteristically tries to reject it with a quick snort and shake of his head but—entwined on the loveseat and held safe in embrace—he cannot mistake Shiro's honesty for anything less than the truth it is. His eyes widen. Red creeps across his cheeks. His mouth parts on an inaudible inhale and Shiro presses his prosthetic thumb to the trembling swell of Lance's lip.

"There," Shiro says. "Perfect."

.


End file.
